


Here There Be Dragons

by AngeNoir



Series: Write-Away Giveaway Fills on Tumblr [9]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-21
Updated: 2013-05-21
Packaged: 2017-12-12 12:35:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/811656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngeNoir/pseuds/AngeNoir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The stranger is blue-eyed, brown-haired, shorter than both Dean and Sam, but when he speaks, his voice echoes with sulfur and fire, and there is something reptilian about his gaze.</p><p>"I am a dragon of the ancients, Dean Winchester."</p><p>(There still are no unicorns, though.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here There Be Dragons

**Author's Note:**

> As a celebration for reaching 100 followers on tumblr, I'm holding a giveaway [here](http://outercorner.tumblr.com/post/51036127748/write-away-giveaway-last-call-3-hours-left), and what I'm giving away is prompt fills for anyone who asks! I received this prompt from [slashersivi](http://slashersivi.tumblr.com):
> 
> _Spn Dragon AU ( angels are dragons, maybe demons are wyrms or wyverns... I've obv not read much Spn fanfic so I dunno if this has been overdone or anything)_

“Fuckin’ hell.”

Sam grimaced and rubbed the back of his neck. “You can say that again,” he agreed, slumping against the armchair.

“Wyrvens?”

“Seems legit,” Bobby grunted, staring down at the book in his hands.

Dean shoved away from the desk, standing up and stalking back and forth. Sam watched him warily; they’d been pushed hard these past few months, and Dean was nearing an explosion that Sam knew he was partially at fault for. “Why now? What brought them here?”

“You did.”

The three of them whipped around, Sam’s knife in his hand and Dean’s enchanted gun leveled at the stranger who was standing in the doorway of Bobby’s study as if he had every right to be there.

The man was dark-skinned, blue-eyed, hair a dark copper color that seemed almost – scaly. Faint tattoos crawled up the man’s throat and rested on his chin and cheekbones as he stepped forward, leather coat swirling about his knees. “Hello, Dean,” the man said in a rumble birthed from fire and ground gravel. “It is a pleasure to see you again.”

“Again?” Dean repeated incredulously. “Buddy, I don’t remember the first time!”

“You wouldn’t,” the man agreed, ignoring the steady barrel of the gun, the shotgun that Bobby had pulled out, or the knife and sword Sam had in his hands. “Prisoners of the wyrms rarely, if ever, are rescued, and those that are almost never regain sanity. I expended considerable effort to free you.”

Sam froze at that, and Dean’s eyes went blank the way they always were whenever Dean woke up in the morning after a night of screaming himself hoarse. His captivity by the wyrms was not something they spoke of, at all.

There was a lot of not-speaking going around, lately. For example, being rescued by a random stranger?

That had never been spoken about.

Bobby tapped fingers against the desk for a long moment, staring at the man in their doorway. “You came through the wyrm traps,” he said finally. “Sam.”

Obediently, Sam grabbed the nearest flask of pure spring water and dashed it over the man’s face.

Those blue eyes slid over to stare at Sam, and Sam felt himself shudder, deep inside. It felt like this man, this dragon, _knew_ what magicks Sam had started dabbling in so that he could take his revenge on the wyrm that dragged Dean down into to the depths of the wyrm domain four months ago.

“Not a ghost, obviously,” Dean muttered. “Shifter? Werewolf?”

“I am a dragon of the ancients,” the man replied, voice matter-of-fact. “This is a pointless exercise. And you are wasting time.”

Sam stared. He’d heard stories, of course – every hunter had, about dragons and their fallen kin, the wyrms and wyrvens. No one believed the stories were _real_ , of course – why would they be? If there was some magick-wielding powerhouse that could transform into a human and back into a five-story tall predator, why wasn’t there any proof? Wyrms, there were plenty of wyrms, crawling and slithering snakes with legs the size of ponies, and the ability to enthrall humans to do their will. Wyrms, for the most part, couldn’t handle sunlight, and the surface of the world was too warm for them to come out. Bobby, their Scribe, had put together the patterns of more and more wyrms venturing forth, trying to figure out the myth of the ‘dragonborn,’ and had finally called them in to his garage when he found conclusive proof that a wyrven had been spotted above ground. A wyrven – a wyrm the size of a cat, that breathed out a noxious gas that killed the crops and living things, a wyrm that could manifest itself in a human likeness and walk among the civilians as if it was one of them.

It had taken down a team of three hunters, the next four hunters that had tracked it down, and had finally been banished back to the wyrm domain by a half-forgotten ritual Bobby’s fellow Scribe, Rufus, had pulled out of an ancient text.

It was – not impossible that dragons existed. That there was a stronger force, one that was sworn to defend the Light just as there were creatures to perpetuate the Dark. Not that Dean or dad had ever believed in the Light, or in anything beyond the next bullet and the next hunt.

“Bullshit,” Dean snarled, and then his silver knife was whistling through the air to thunk into the man’s chest.

The man looked down with the bitchiest bitch-face and pulled it out of his chest. The knife was half-melted, warped, and the man set it down on the nearest flat surface (the top of a book, which immediately began to smoke). “My name,” he said in deliberate, drawn-out syllables, “is Castiel, and I have come to you, Dean Winchester, because the blood of dragons runs through your veins. We have work for you to do.”

Bobby squinted at the man – Castiel – even as Dean snorted, folding his arms, the amulet around his neck flashing gold as it caught the sun, and Sam was suddenly brought back to when he was eight years old, holding ice on Dean’s face because Dean had stopped kids from picking on him. It was the day he figured out that hunters weren’t the superheroes Dean said they were, but people reviled by civilians for touching and interacting with the evil of the world. Hunters harmed more than they helped, and demanded respect when they offered none. Oh, not the hunters dad had brought them around, not Bobby and Magi Jim Murphy and Caleb and Joshua and Jefferson. And Rufus. Not the small circle of _professional_ hunters, people who didn’t demand payment from a town before ridding it of its supernatural problem, people who didn’t expect the best food, the most beautiful women, the nicest bed in return of getting rid of a pitiful ghost or a wee beastie.

But that amulet, that amulet had been intended for dad, and when Sam had found out just how wrong Dean had been, just what hunters were thought of by other kids, and what hunters _kids_ were thought of by other kids _and_ other adults, and dad wasn’t here to protect them. Dad was off again, following the trail of some hound, and Dean was left to take care of them, and so Sam had taken the amulet and given it to Dean because Dean _deserved it_.

Right now, that amulet was glowing with blue fire.

“Dean,” he said softly, pointing to his chest.

Castiel and Dean both looked where he had pointed, and Castiel’s eyes lit up – literally, _lit up_ , blue fire sparking from the corners of his eyes. “That,” Castiel said gravely, “is the tool needed to find the Arc-Dragon.”

“The _Arc-Dragon_?” Dean repeated pointedly, skeptically.

“The Avatar of the Light. The one dragon who can reverse the ice age the wyrms and wyrvens are forcing upon this world.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold up there, son,” Bobby growled, coming out from behind the desk and looking at the amulet before looking back at Castiel. “Ice age? Forced upon the world?”

At that, Castiel’s ecstatic expression shuttered, and his face became blank and solemn once more. “Yes. There is much that needs to be done, and much that will be asked of you, Dean Winchester. You are needed in order to halt the encroachment already spreading. There is much work for us to do.”


End file.
